If I’m honest with myself, it’s probably one of my guilty pleasures, one that I no doubt share with many of my fellow gen-y folk. Watching episode on episode of a show, not noticing the hours fly by, absorbed in the story lines of fictional characters, caring more about their fate than sometimes the fates and futures of those around us.

It is how I would give my brain a rest between exams, and in some ways unfortunately, has replaced a love of fiction books. Why, I’m not sure: the transition has been slow and insidious, until I only recently realised I had spent the same number of hours watching TV as I would previously have spent hungrily consuming the worlds of Tamora Pierce, Joe Abercrombie and Duncan Lay.

That being said, my writing this reflection was prompted by the emotional and yet fitting season finale of a favourite series of mine, Justified.

It isn’t quite a mainstream classic like Game of Thrones, which I refuse to watch on principle (the abundance of nudity and gratuitous violence grates on my soul). Justified was introduced to me by a geologist on a rig in Western Queensland on an unsuspecting day-shift.

“It’s pretty good. It’s addictive…"

I was sceptical, but it didn’t take long. It took one episode in fact, and I was hooked.

Justified is the story of a cowboy lawman, Deputy US Marshall Raylan Givens and his long time battle with outlaw Boyd Crowder.

The world of Eastern Kentucky is foreign to me, but Justified brought it alive. Perhaps the representation of Harlan County is as accurate as The Wire’s of Baltimore, but the characters were just as complex, real and courageously human. Boyd was a outlaw in every sense of the word yet somehow, we were given glimpses into his humanity, as much as we despised it. Raylan was a lawman who was perhaps the mirror image of Boyd, but on the right side of the tracks and we saw him grapple with his instinct, and what was ‘right'. The various other Marshals, the villains, the well meaning town folk and of course the steel of Ava Crowder, Rayland’s original lover and Boyd’s finance - and shooter - weaved a tapestry that made us feel like a thread in the story; made us feel like we could belong.

The amazing thing about TV is that right now, moments after shedding a single tear at the season (and series) finale, my emotions are wrought and raw. Yet, I will look back on this in days, weeks, months and think gosh! How invested was I! How was it that I spent so much time watching this when I could have been doing something productive? Why did I care so much about a world which does not even exist?

I guess that’s not the point. The beauty in well made pop culture, well made film and ultimately, well made art is that it gives us the space to feel. We are given permission to see and experience what we don’t yet have the language for through the world of someone else. It can hold up a mirror to who we are as a society, give us the opportunity to dissect human interaction, figure out who is still holding the reigns of societal power. It can be used to shape minds and expectations, introduce ideas and challenge them, entertain, embolden, embattle, envelope. It can be anything we want it to be I guess...

What I took away from Justified is this: for some, human life is cheap.

Some people are lucky, some make it through.

Others, most others, don’t fare so well, and past success is never quite a guarantee of the same in the future.

Some folk are in the wrong place at the wrong time, and some are victim of the lottery of birth.

Others make the circumstances of their birth moot through their choices, but that is a courage not many are even shown how to muster.

Trust is a beautiful, rare and incredibly fragile thing: if it were tangible it would be the film that makes up a butterfly’s wings. Pierce it and the film curls all the way back. Each piece requires painstaking, careful unfurling to even begin to resemble its original form and even then...

Ultimately, even nemesis share a common humanity. For Boyd and Raylan, it was digging coal when they were pups. Here in the real world, it is up to us to find that binding force between each other. For if we don’t, there is no way out.

Just finished reading this short and punchy 'history' book, written by Rachel Buchanan.

'STOP PRESS' is one of the Published Scribe's Media Chronicles, a series of first person accounts about the changes in the mass media that we are now a part of. I was actually sent this particular book by Crikey as part of my subscription which I am thoroughly enjoying and is probably where I get most of my Australian news from.

Shameless promotion aside, the book and the Chronicles are timely, given never-ending public lament on the death of the newspapers. Circulation is down across almost all dailies in Australia, revenue is plummeting and it seems the grieving has begun before 'Time of Death' has even been called.

It is interesting to ask whether this is a history book or not. Rachel's friend, quoted in the book, seems to think so.

[box] "I started to explain that I was writing about the present, about how newspapers were made now, but my friend interrupted. 'Yes it is,' she said. 'We are history Rachel. You are writing a history book.'" [/box]

Perhaps. Buchanan chronicles the huge change in the world of newspapers over her lifetime, a change that has occurred so rapidly it is no wonder folk are blinking their eyes, shaking off twittering birds circling above their head. The fall of newspapers has been rough and undignified in a way. Rachel writes nostalgically of hot metal presses; proud, loyal distributors who would do anything to get the paper out on time, an entire industry devoted to reporting, writing, producing; intellectuals in their own world that are unused to this recent loss of importance.

Again, like other books and films, I become nostalgic for a time I never knew. The world seems foreign yet romantic in a way that reminds me of period-films; movies set back in time that make you wish you were there. Sometimes though, you realise if you were, you probably wouldn't have been living the life shown on screen. After all, when in history were coloured people ever the ones inhabiting mansions? Downton Abbey, for shame.

What Rachel does well is highlight that the (alleged?) death of the traditional press (if it can be called a death - after all, the book claims that the national circulation is still 11 million) does not just mean the loss of jobs for reporters and journalists, but of the entire industry around the 'press' itself. This was an angle I had not really considered before. Newspapers were a 'manufacturing' industry, and with the decline in manufacturing around the West generally, newspapers naturally followed suit. The book does well here, giving life to all from the paper mills to the ink stained men working the presses and the local distributors, stuffing papers with inserts every night.

Yet, I feel there is a unnecessary conflation between the death of the newspaper and the death of 'quality journalism'.

I was born early enough in the nineties to not have grown up with the internet as integral to my life as air. I grew up in a family that lived on newspapers; until today I pick up copies of The Australian (I do love a broadsheet) and the Financial Review (and SMH/The Age if travelling) whenever I get the chance.

However, it strikes me that all the lament is coming from those who played a role in the old world of the press. Personally, I feel like news is news is news. Online I can be my own curator, add to the discussion and diverse voices can be heard, and, well, that is just fine with me!

Yes, the traditional world of the press is not as ubiquitous as it used to be (in the West, the East is still a little different). Neither is the world of vinyl, or horse driven carts. New technology is different, but it doesn't make it any less valuable, if we treat it with the same level of respect as we did its predecessor.

The old school press might be dying, but journalism doesn't have to. In fact, I don't think it is.

Stories that are truly investigative and revolutionary might not occur every day, but the recent Edward Snowden upheavals are examples of the fourth estate really showing why it remains a pillar.

The internet has shaken things up for the capitalist world, which thought it had its revenue streams all figured out. In a way, I like the upheaval and the change. It means the power has shifted - or at least, has the potential to shift - from powerful (single-demographic) men who controlled it all, including what the public saw as the truth. Too much power with the one demographic is never really much fun.

I've never heard a person my age lament the death of the paper; we read the news on our laptops, phones, iPads and just get on with life.

Yes, things are different. The money for editors, sub editors and the like isn't what it used to be. The structures are changing. Buchanan's book is a chronicle of that change.

Still...

Change brings new beginnings, and I am excited to see what we young people make it.

The Julia Gillard who graced the stage with Anne Summers in conversation a few months ago now was charismatic, charming, engaging, articulate, wise (I could go on!) and pretty well looked like someone who would be a fantastic leader for our country.

The woman on stage in the Sydney Opera House for the hour and a half special seemed miles away from the Julia Gillard that the Australian people had become accustomed to. Was this really the same women that the country so desperately hated while she ran the Government for just over three years? Was this the same Julia Gillard that graced our television screens for such a brief period of time?

So what happened? Where did this lady go in all the hullabaloo... and how or why did it all go so wrong?

The Book

I recently finished an interesting book by Kerry-Anne Walsh,'The Stalking of Julia Gillard'.

The Allen and Unwin published piece is an interesting blow-by-blow account of the years of Julia Gillard's reign. It illustrates how relentless white-anting from within her own party coupled with the obvious campaign against her in the predominantly Murdoch-owned media led to the misrepresentation of our first female leader and her eventual downfall - and for what? It was an interesting read, and brought up feelings quite similar to guilt.

How did we not see the good work that she was doing, the book asks.

We, the Australian public, were not allowed to, Walsh replies.

It is an angry read in parts; angry for the treatment of our first female Prime Minister, angry for Julia as a fellow human being, angry at the press gallery for failing in their role as the fourth estate. I felt like I was having a heated conversation with someone who really cared about Gillard, and someone who in hindsight, wished more were done. What could have been done by us isn't really explained, but as they say, admitting there is a problem is half the battle.

Naturally, Gillard is not blameless. Many Australians still hold deep resentment that she arrived on the scene in the way she did, through what was seen as the 'knifing' of a colleague. Whether that is an accurate representation of the events we may never truly know, but that is how the picture was painted for the public. Unfortunately, perceptions like that tend to stick around.

Walshes writing had an obvious bias, but in the wake of the conversation with Anne Summers, I began to wonder - how will history remember Gillard, and what lessons do we as a community take from the last three years?

That question: gender?

As Julia herself admitted, the fact that she was a female in her role doesn't explain everything, but it doesn't explain nothing either.

My hope is that there is more 'nothing' than 'everything', and that the way that Julia was treated - not only by the media and colleagues but by the public in general - does not deter other young women from aspiring to a similar role.

There is evidence to suggest some women who strive for such leadership positions do not even consider their gender as an impediment or a factor until they get there and realise that it somehow plays a part. The 'ugly, violent sexism' that Gillard and her image were subjected to during her term however, were shocking for many - not least of all Gillard herself, as she fit nicely into the aforementioned category.

The public discourse has been drenched in questions around the role gender played in Gillard's treatment. Prominent feminists such as Anne Summers herself have admitted to being truly shocked at the capacity of our progressive society to produce such callous content.

However all is not lost, and sometimes success is the best form of response. Rather than focusing what hateful individuals propagate, or dwell on the fact that a TV show was made about a sitting PM, let us focus on the fact that we had a female PM who had a relatively successful parliament. Let us use her example as incentive for other young women as proof that you can make it.

Yes, it might be a rose tinted view accented by the optimism of youth but surely it is the way to go.

If people have a problem, they will find any flaw or weakness they can to exploit. The fact that the female gender is seen as an exploitable weakness is unfortunate, but if someone's gender is the best insult thrown at them, well it isn't much of an insult at all!

This is not to say that we should brush issues under the rug, or investigate why there remains a strong undercurrent of misogyny in our society. By giving the detractors so much attention in the public discourse though, we are legitimising their actions and beliefs in a way that they don't deserve.

My father always repeated a common Arab saying to me while we were growing up:

The camel walks while the dogs keep barking...

There will always be those who are vocal, violent and sexist. The fact that we now have a history of females in the highest offices in the land though, is an indicator that gender is not an insurmountable obstacle. It might not be easy, but hey - societal change never is.

Let's just keep walking - after all, no self-respecting camel deigns to even acknowledge the barking dogs...

You all know I deeply, deeply love motorsport. So when the opportunity to check out the newest Formula 1 cinematic masterpiece came along, I jumped at the chance! Check out my review of 'Rush', released earlier this month, with Josh Kruse (a fellow journo at Richard's F1)!

The intake heaves, urgently drawing every inch of air and oxygen into the cylinders.

The camera zooms in, past the smooth movements of the pistons, while your senses are overwhelmed by the roar of the intake.

The new Formula 1 film, Rush, is an adrenalin filled, cinematographic feast. It is a motion picture that should, and will be appreciated by fans of the sport, but you don’t have to love the world of Formula 1 to appreciate this particular piece.

Ron Howard’s Rush is set in the 1970s, two conflicting personalities progress through Formula 3 to Formula 1, where they would create one of the most extravagant and memorable seasons Formula 1 has seen. It’s a story that can literally tell itself.

Rush focuses on the infamous rivalry of Austrian and British drivers Niki Lauda and James Hunt during the early 70’s. It is an era that as young Formula 1 fans, neither of us had heard and read much about, but was truly brought alive by actors Daniel Brühl (Lauda) and Chris Hemsworth (Hunt) on the big screen. The atmosphere of the 1970s racing world – no safety, loads of scantily clad women and drivers with actual (visible) personalities – was so convincing, we felt nostalgic for an time we had never even experienced.

Lauda is the man whose methodical and meticulous approach to his career earned him the success he yearned for in Formula One. Lauda is a perfectionist, involved in every aspect of the car and tunes his ride to faultlessness. Niki, unlike James, calculates and plays the odds consistently.

Hunt is the glamorous English playboy whose fearless bad-boy persona makes him irresistible to women. He, on the other hand, lives like he drives: emotionally with no holds barred and little regard for logical details like odds and risk. He is chaotic, charismatic and larger than life.

The events of the 1976 World Championship make for heart clenching watching: Lauda’s harrowing crash, his painful – truly painful – recovery and Hunt’s desperation for the title are all depicted brilliantly.

Neither driver is a hero or a villain, although the film makes you love and hate both in equal measure. These were two very different men with wildly different motives for racing who were eventually brought together by the sharing of a title and the development of a mutual respect.

The casting for Rush could not have been better. Hemsworth does a fantastic job of playing the party boy role, while Brühl’s spectacular depiction of Lauda is remarkably accurate down to the accent, earning high praise from Niki Lauda himself.

The excitement of engines roaring to life before they take on the graveyard, The Nürburgring, will send deep chills down the spines of F1 fans, as they know of the unfortunate events that occur. Although one step ahead of us, Howard makes the entire scene so tense you’ll be gripping the arm rest waiting for it to happen. Then it does, Lauda’s Ferrari suffers a mechanical fault and smashes into a barrier, the car erupting into a ball of flames as the fuel tank is punctured.

Cue Hans Zimmer.

A well-balanced mix of cinematography and musical composition make Lauda’s fiery crash entrancing to watch. You’re so absorbed by the emotional scene that’s supplemented by a dramatic orchestra it becomes easier to picture the real event.

It’s not just this scene where Zimmer’s musical talent presents itself; all throughout the film the music that accompanies it is outstanding. Not since the amazing compositions from Antonio Pinto’s work in Senna have we rushed home (pardon the pun) and bought the soundtrack.

There are times where Hollywood steps in and depicts Lauda as the villain and Hunt as the hero, but you must remember that this is a movie, not a documentary.

Of course there will be those who lived through the era who remember the events of the day, and the relationship between the two drivers quite differently. That is not the point of Rush.

What you do have is a film that brings to life the beauty of the sport, the excitement of the race and the tension of the personal drama. It gives an inkling as to why people like us crave the race weekends, why the screams of a V8, V10 or V12 make our hearts beat a flurry. It is a film about the exquisiteness of the sport that we all love, and for that Ron Howard and all his team should be duly thanked.

RUSH is currently in national release in Australian cinemas. Check your local cinema for listing and session times.

Postscript: It is sad that on writing this piece, the news that Sean Edwards, a Porsche professional driver involved in the making of Rush was killed at Yassmin’s home racetrack, Queensland Raceway. Our thoughts are with his family, and it is a sombre reminder that even though we think the dangerous days of motorsport have past, it is still a sport that occasionally draws blood in the worst way possible. RIP Sean.

Salacious photos are not something to generally be given the time of day. When the topic comes up as part of another 'scandal' in politics or a celebrity's life, I tend to shake my head and wonder what the person was thinking.

Notwithstanding this, a subplot running through this week's 'The Newsroom' episode was cause for reflection, particularly around this idea (or myth!) of privacy in today's world.

The subplot in question was explosively introduced in the opening scene. Nude photos of one of the characters, Sloan (a respected TV anchor), had been posted up on a site. These photos quickly went viral, and the channel is left to deal with the results. The interesting thing about these photos was that they were taken with her consent by an man she was dating and trusted implicitly at the time. When she dumped him, he took the due 'revenge' he felt was 'owed' to him through by utterly humiliating her.

'I am feeling something very I don't know how to describe right now', Sloan says on the show.

Betrayal perhaps? Insecurity? Utter helplessness? One can only imagine what it must feel like to have a truly intimate moment be broadcast online.

Her confidante at the time said it was rage - or will quickly turn into rage. Sloan finishes the episode in the boardroom of said jilted lover, punching him out and getting a little revenge of her own.

***

There are a number of interesting readings of this plot. Sloan's character is a genius; she's a well respected economist and commands audiences of hundreds of thousands. Surely, a thirty year old highly educated woman wouldn't put herself in this situation. Surely she would think to delete identifying photos if they were taken, even if she had consented?

Well if recent history is anything to go by, people do very silly things with cameras and phones without seeming to think about the consequences (or in the case of Anthony Weiner, even seeming to care). In this case however, Sloan wasn't doing anything technically 'wrong', so that argument is less substantial. It does raise the question about the line between an individual's public and personal life though, particularly in an age where this is becoming increasingly blurred.

She sights her implicit trust in this guy as the reason she didn't expect this sort of revenge. 'It wasn't a bad breakup - but even if it were, would this be okay?!', she asks, and rightly so! Humiliation and the essential defamation can regularly - and do regularly - annihilate reputations. We all know that reputations are the easiest things to damage and the most difficult to repair. So the act of distributing the photos we can agree, is immoral.

Is it criminal?

Whose responsibility is it to ensure these things don't happen?

Is your privacy always your individual responsibility or should is there an implicit trust in relationships with people - and institutions - that should also bear part of the burden?

Unfortunately, it is increasingly difficult to effectively operate in this society without being online. So how does one walk the line? Are we all to always be on-guard and take precautions, accepting that being selective about what we share - even to our closest friends - is never really actually private?

What will happen when people growing up in this online society become leaders of state? Will there never be any surprises because everything is already online? Will our moral appetites change because we become accustomed to every single infraction being displayed and obsessed with the world over? Or will there be an industry based around the erasure of online profiles to give people an opportunity to 'start afresh'.

Named after the famous text “The Art of War” by Sun Tzu, Adam Parr’s fresh, comic strip style memoir is a fascinating glimpse into the murky world of Formula 1 that fans rarely get an insight to.

“The Art of War: Five Years in Formula One” chronicles Adam Parr’s half a decade in the sport as Chairman and CEO of Williams F1 from 2006 – 2012, a tumultuous time for the sport and an era of even more political manoeuvring and intrigue than usual (and that is saying something for Formula 1!).

Those who follow the sport will recall the shock at Adam Parr’s resignation announcement in early 2012, and this book goes some way towards explaining that decision and the events that culminated in the end of his short-lived era. This includes the creation and demise of FOTA, the various teams and manufacturers that left the competition and the effects of the global financial crisis on the sport, among others.

The illustrations, drawn by the talented Paul Tinker, bring unexpected life to the story of the intense Formula 1 competition – not on the track, but at the meeting room tables, where every man (just like on the track) is looking after their own interests. Contemporary F1 politics at its finest…presented in black, white and red for your viewing pleasure.

It is interesting to see how Parr paints the relationships between the teams and where suggests “things went wrong”.

The thin volume – numbering 80 full pages – isn’t heavily narrated by Parr himself. As Max Mosely states in the foreword, Parr presents the story in a way that encourages the readers to draw their own conclusions about the events of the last 5 years in the sport. This is all part of the charm of the book however, which is filled with unlikely delights - the neat gallery of “main characters” (named “Debts and Lessons”) at the beginning of the book, coupled with a sentence or two on that character’s philosophy was a pleasant addition (For example: Bernie Ecclestone: Self deprecation, Lack of interest in material things, sense of humour and patience – who would have thought?).

The book does leave the reader craving for more however – Parr only briefly touches on the main events and it does feel a little light on detail in areas. Rather than an intense analysis and expose, this is more a peek behind the curtain, a run through the back of house dealings…a preview of something more perhaps? I hope so.

Nonetheless, given the beauty of the book itself, and the interesting insights presented by an outsider who came into the industry with the stated goal to “change the culture”, this is a must for all F1 fans. It is a fascinating, absorbing and insightful read that is highly recommended as an addition to any collection. I am certainly a proud owner of a First Limited Edition printed copy myself!

For someone who has grown up watching Fomula One in the last decade or so, it is easy to forget how dangerous a sport it is…and how fatal it used to be.

The recent and extraordinarily sad passing of the books author, ‘The Prof’, is made even more acute while reading this eloquent text as his personality, wit and straight attitude shine through, saddening readers by reminding us such a great character no longer watches over the paddock.

Life at the Limit was written after the death of Professor Watkin’s friend and inspiration to many, Ayrton Senna in 1994. Chapter one details that fateful weekend…

“Sid, there are certain things over which we have no control. I cannot quit, I have to go on”. Those were the last words he said to me – Page 8, The Professor and Ayrton’s Last conversation

The book takes you through the recent history of Formula One through the unique lenses of a man of medicine, a man who didn’t miss much. Although slightly outdated now (the majority of the book focuses on the seventies, eighties, and very early nineties), the Professor does a wonderful job of taking the readers through the development of safety within the Formula One scene, and it is interesting having major races and individuals referred to not by their typical characteristics such as wins, but by the crashes involved and the injuries sustained!

***

There are two things that particularly strike me about this book and meant that it was more than just your average lazy Sunday afternoon paperback (and no, the answer is not that was a hardback…).

Firstly, learning about the history of safety within Formula One and the truly calamitous accidents that occurred with frightening regularity was quite sobering. In today’s day and age, accidents in the top level GPs are more often than not a spectacle rather than a true cause for concern, and so it is easy to forget that only 20 years ago, any accident could be deadly – as it often was.

The Professor details his exploits in trying to convert die hard racers and obstinate racing officials to his cause, and often the situations he found himself in were quite amusing! Told in his amusing, dry English manner I found myself laughing aloud a number of times…and also feeling his pain as he was faced time and time again with the prospect of pulling another close friend or colleague out of a crushed cockpit. It could never have been easy, and although he is the cynical neurosurgeon you could feel the emotion behind some of the pages.

The second thing I really enjoyed was the personal aspect of the book; Watkins knew everyone there was to know in Formula One and was quite close to many of them. The stories of the race drivers and officials in the early years were a nice touch, humanising them for someone who just knew their statistics. They served to remind that these, were just men (really talented men mind you) doing a dangerous job that they loved, in an environment that was often unforgiving. There are so many names that they occasionally blurred together, but I definitely feel like I had taken an enjoyable trip down F1 memory lane…

***

All in all, Life at the Limit: Triumph and Tragedy in Formula One is an great read for someone who is looking to learn a little about the history of safety in the sport, or any fan who is looking to learn a little more about the great Professor and the personalities of his time. Stories about Bernie that you’d never hear about, the antics of Nelson Piquet, the trials of organising helicopters for transport or the practical jokes everyone seemed to play on each other…it’s all here, and all worth checking out.